Toruk had never fallen before, not from anything, not from a hill, a cliff, or even down the stairs, at least not that he could remember. He had tripped many times but had never fallen. Even when he didn’t necessarily know where he was going, even when he was blind, Toruk stepped secure in the confidence that he would figure things out eventually.
But this was different. This entire night was different. He had traversed through unforgiving terrain, guided by an invisible figure, challenged by an otherworldly being, enraptured within a windy spirit. Toruk’s emotions had gone from fear to surprise to confidence to joy to doubt back to fear again. He had been miraculously healed and given back his eyesight; a phenomenon he still could not discern how it happened. And the many miles through Satqin Forest and the four across the Chena River seemed like a great expanse, filled with adventure and diversity, of wonder and of danger as if the young Lijian had traversed from one end of the world to the other.
He fell 50 feet off the Mountain towards the Valley below, still entangled in the rope. It all fell with him, the rope, the stake, the harness as if the Mountain had violently spit him out from its mouth, smugly dismissing his presence.
It seemed completely opposite to the mission the Voice had called Toruk to complete, for the very reason for his journey was to reach the Peak, receive the Waterstone, and return to Ceto to distribute it. Yet here he was, vertically careening through the icy air, his arms flailing, his legs bound in the rope, the stake tumbling down the Mountainside, clanging noisily as it periodically hit the rock.
“Voice, what will you have me do?” asked the Yuli Wind, speaking in Vana as all three, the Wind, the Chena, and the Voice Upon the Mountain watched Toruk fall.
They stood outside of time and space, watching the event unfold, their words heard only by each other, echoing across the spiritual heavens, resistant to the passage of time, for as the three spoke, their entire conversation extended to only milliseconds within man’s time, within Toruk’s time.
“He has exhibited great gryim (doubt),” said the Voice.
“But the young man has also exhibited great fearlessness, especially upon my waters,” said the Chena.
“But how can he board with such doubt?” said the Voice. “With doubt, he will not have sufficient faith to board the train.”
“Haven’t they all had doubt at one time or another?” said the Yuli Wind.
“Yes,” said the Chena River. “Even the best had doubt somewhere along the journey.”
“But now is not the time for doubt,” said the Voice. “Now is the time for Toruk to believe.”
The three were conversing inside another dimension located on the Peak. The Yuli Wind appeared as a winter breeze, pulsating each time he spoke. The Chena appeared as a floating piece of ice shaped like a large diamond, glowing each time he spoke. And the Voice sat upon a throne, his feet firmly planted on the Peak, his heart and mind focused on Toruk alone, his words booming with power and authority. The sun was just beneath the horizon, slowly coming into view as man’s time inched by.
The Voice looked down at his right hand which held the Sacred Waterstone.
“I do not want Toruk to fail, I want him to succeed,” said the Voice. “I am on the young Lijian’s side.”
“As we all are,” said the Yuli Wind. “Just say your command and I will get to work.”
“I could save him right now if I wanted to,” said the Voice, looking away, contemplating. “With my own hand, I can catch him.”
“Will you?” asked the Chena. “He is just a young man who has experienced great things this night. His doubt was inevitable.”
“Was it?” said the Voice, standing up then pacing before his throne. “Chena,” he said, stopping to address the diamond-shaped ice floating before him, “remember the past? Remember the sacrifice you made? You, too, experienced great pain.”
“Yes, Voice,” said the Chena. “I did, but you guided me like a father. You taught me the ways of virtue and obedience. You ensured that I would obey, even to the painful moment when my waters were diverted from the Sea into the narrow slit that is now the River. Such pain it caused, Voice! But you were there, approving of my obedience, endowing me with strength of heart and will, reminding me that the people’s lives were worth saving, promising me a seat beside your throne in the heavens, teaching me that all leaders must first serve, that all kings must first forage like slaves, that sacrificing one’s life is the greatest act of vana (love). Yes, Voice, I suffered. But such was always my destiny and purpose.”
“But?” asked the Voice, waiting for the Chena to finish his thought.
“But,” said the Chena, “Toruk is but a man, a human. He was not created for the purpose I was created, Voice. He was given the gift of life as all humans receive. It was only now, in his prime of life, that he was called. Thus, his focus was different. We must understand that his perception of hope would be a dimmer one.”
“Yet he is capable of great virtue!” chimed in the Yuli Wind. “I felt it. I saw it. I witnessed it. When he was in my arms as I carried him across the Chena, I sensed Toruk’s joy, his sublime joy in what was happening to him. He did believe! And I suspect he still does. It is just the way with mankind; when some are faced with seemingly impossible odds, they are overcome with doubt.”
The Voice looked at the Waterstone again. “He must succeed,” he said. “Toruk must succeed.”
“Yes, it would be a tragedy of great proportions if he didn’t,” said the Yuli Wind, “since this Waterstone is the only one.”
“What if you toss it upon my waters, Voice?” asked the Chena River. “I will push it down towards Ceto, towards the city center. Someone is bound to pick it up and inspect its contents out of curiosity. Then my Waterstone will eventually reach those it was intended to reach.”
“Will it?” said the Voice, sitting back down in his throne, clutching the stone in his hand. “I am not so sure. Not all are mine. Some are still held by the Shadow. Some hearts are too corrupt, Chena. It is possible one would see the stone, pick it up and either keep it for themselves or sell it for money.”
“How about I deliver it to the people within my torrent?” asked the Wind.
“Not all see you, Yuli,” said the Voice. “It is possible you will be ignored or worse, the stone will break and its contents spill upon the ground.”
“Whatever you wish for me to do, Voice,” said the Wind, “I will do.”
The Voice sighed. “I remember the day when the contents of this Sacred Waterstone came to be,” he said. “Remember, Chena? Remember when you were the king of the seas with power and authority just as you are now? And remember when that wayward Galu rebelled, instantly putting into jeopardy the welfare of all people, groveling like the snake that he was, like the Shadow that he became, threatening to poison the whole world with his hatred? And you, Chena, remember, when you agreed out of love for me and for the people, to sacrifice yourself? Remember that day, Chena? Remember when the heavens turned dark and the birds ceased to sing and the waves upon your royal sea roared and crested in pain, crashing against each other, against my Mountain, against heaven itself? And you cried out to me in your agony “Voice, where are you?” for some of your waters diverted with great tumult and force, crashing into the dry bed that is now the River, painfully removing its own salt, filling the ridge with your pure innocence? And your life blood, the core of your benevolent being, the fruit of your pain born from love for me and for the people concentrated itself into a substance and found refuge in a stone buried in the River, in fact, in this very stone which I had picked up and kept for the right moment, for the right time in which all people would be healed? Ah, Chena, though you are still the king of the seas, you also became the savior of the world, the life-giving waters! Your pain, your life blood, your love encapsulated in this Waterstone became the sole healing balm for the people, the only medicine that would cure the Shadow’s poison and disease, the salve the people had been waiting for though many remain ignorant of its existence. Ah, Chena, the Sacred Waterstone, as the Lijians call it, is of great importance. Distributing its healing power to the people is a great responsibility only found in a worthy person.”
“But Toruk has passed all your tests, hasn’t he?” said the Chena. “Remember his bravery against the hawks, his obedience in the Meadow of Memory, his strength at the People’s Pond, his clever fight against the Shadow all while he was still blind, unable to see? Remember when you called him, when he answered your call in his heart before he ever set a foot in the Forest? Voice, I propose Toruk is ready to possess my Waterstone and bring it back to the people.”
“What about you, Yuli?” asked the Voice. “What is your opinion?”
“Oh Voice,” replied the Yuli Wind, “my will is to do your will. I have no agenda of my own, only that which you command me to do. All I can report is that when the young man was within my torrent, he saw many things and understood many things about me, about my power, about life and the world. I felt in his soul the joy he experienced; the kind of exuberant joy a person feels compelled to share with others. I suspect Toruk will do so once he returns to Ceto. I suspect he will tell all of what he experienced this night. If that is not the making of a worthy person, then Voice, I don’t know what is.”
“His doubt concerns me,” said the Voice.
“But he was in peril,” offered the Chena.
“He should have called out to me,” replied the Voice. “This entire night, we have been communicating. This entire night he has called out to me. Why not when he tried to climb my Mountain? Why did he not call out to me?”
“Perhaps he thought climbing was the right way,” said the Wind. “After all, Voice, our ways are not man’s ways.”
“This is true,” said the Voice. “He was petulant, letting his emotions overcome his reason. Such is the case with an immature soul.”
“Then we save him?” asked the Chena.
“I remember his father, his mother,” said the Voice. “Their souls are ever before me. Tofer was a noble man of his time, filled with love and devotion, strong in character. Such is the blood that runs through Toruk’s veins.”
“So we save him?” echoed the Wind.
“His mother was the sweetest of souls,” continued the Voice. “She bore her burdens with grace and love, sacrificing for her family, ever faithful to her marriage, teaching her children the wisdom of possessing virtue and living in honor. Matyp was a rare woman of her time. She rejected frivolity and was steeped in the truth.”
The Wind and the Chena looked at the Voice expectantly, waiting for him to answer their question about saving Toruk, but instead the Voice continued.
“And that little Tame,” he said. “He is a spitfire of joy, a dollop of his mother’s love and generosity. The Shadow’s poison is slowly coursing through his little veins, threatening harm to his eyes, to his organs; I can feel it. In fact, such is happening inside the bodies of many in Ceto. Those who are suffering are waiting for the cure while those unsuspecting souls are going about their day still ignorant of the poison in their blood. Yet they are not all innocent for I have seen and heard what they have done to their countrymen, dividing people by origin and oppressing them with ridiculous rules and ordinances, making life even more unbearable for whom they deem as foreigners. No, they are not all innocent.
But I did not save this Waterstone for the innocent or the well. No, I saved it to apply to the wounds of the sick and even the wicked because I am hopeful that once they breathe free of their illnesses, they will seek out the source of this Sacred Waterstone. And through Toruk, they will seek me out on the Peak. Yes, they will stream to my Peak in droves. That is my hope.”
“So you will save him?” asked the Chena.
“Yes,” said the Voice. Then turning to the Yuli Wind, “the young Lijian is just feet away from his death, Yuli, falling rapidly down the Mountainside. Create a cloud made of pure water from the Chena at once. Place it just above the ground, just above the bed of Tavatu. This way, once he falls on the cloud, not only will Toruk be saved and brought to the place where he was supposed to be all along, he will also be healed, for I know he is in great pain. I feel it.”
The Yuli Wind bowed in obedience then immediately set to work. He went down to the Chena River and, with his aerated hands, punched through the River’s ice as he had done before and pulled up some of the pure water which the Chena gave up freely. The Wind pulled the water high into the air and swiftly formulated it into a soft, pillowy cloud. Then he drew down the cloud and placed it above the Tavatu just below where Toruk was about to land. It appeared as a thick layer of a white opaque fog mysteriously hovering over the flowers.
The moment Toruk fell upon the cloud, he was immediately buoyed, gently bouncing upon the cloud as if it were a soft bed. The rope around his leg mysteriously unraveled on its own while the other tools, the harness and stake simply disappeared. The throbbing pain in his right thigh instantly healed. The numbness in his fingers and toes melted away, and his mind became as clear as a bell, undisturbed by irrational emotion.
“What’s happening?” Toruk said, shocked that he was alive, feeling around the cold fog, unable to comprehend how he was lying on top of it.
“I ammmmm!” roared the Yuli Wind as he slowly lowered the cloud to the ground.
Then after watching Toruk eventually set his feet on the ground, the Wind dissipated the cloud, letting it vanish before the young man’s eyes. The Wind enraptured Toruk once again, this time with warm air, ensuring that his entire body was warmed and healed.
“Yuli Wind?” said Toruk as he watched the spinning wall of wind develop around him as it had before when he was on the Chena River.
From within the torrent, the Yuli Wind spoke.
“I ammmmm!” replied the Wind.
Toruk suddenly felt a pang of regret and guilt. He lamented his previous doubts, his dark ruminations that the Wind and the Voice and even the magic of the Chena River were not real. Though he could not say the words, Toruk spoke them through his thoughts, knowing the Yuli Wind could somehow hear him.
I’m sorry, he thought.
“You were afraid,” replied the Wind in Lijian.
I should not have been. I should have asked you to help me, returned Toruk.
“I have helped you now. You must move forward. Do not think of the past.”
I was hanging on that Mountain, thinking I was going to die.
“But you did not.”
My whole life flashed before my eyes. I was just frustrated.
“You did not mean it.”
I know you’re real. I know the Voice is real. I know the Chena is real. I-I think I just got angry up there. I was in pain, and I couldn’t get the rope off my legs and then the Mountain rocks moved and-
“Toruk, it is time to move forward. Dawn is coming.”
I just want you to know that I’m sorry, Yuli Wind. I-I need you near me. I need you to help me. Show me how to get to the Peak.
“The Voice has commanded it and thus I will help you.”
You’ll help me get up to the Peak?
“When this torrent subsides, you will remain where you are, standing within the bed of the Tavatu.”
Toruk looked down, noticing for the first time that he was indeed surrounded by the Tavatu. Their open blooms stood at attention, seemingly indifferent to the torrent spinning around him.
“The Tavatu will come alive,” continued the Wind, “and they will create the vehicle that will carry you to the Peak. Once it is created, you must board immediately, for time is of the essence and the Tavatu work quickly, in the blink of an eye.”
Then what?
“Then you will come to the Peak.”
That’s it? I don’t have to climb it? But how will the vehicle get to the Peak?
“It is not for you to know right now, Toruk. Do you believe me?”
Yes.
“Do you believe in the one who sent me, the Voice?”
Yes.
“Do you believe in the power of the Chena that healed you this night?”
Yes.
“Then just board the vehicle the moment it is created. Your faith will take you from there.”
And with an emphatic “I ammmmm!” the Yuli Wind slowed his torrent around Toruk to a standstill, then removed it, leaving Toruk standing alone within the bed of the Tavatu. The Wind then bowed to the Voice upon the Mountain before stepping back, awaiting the Voice’s later commands.
Toruk, obedient to the Wind, remained where he was standing, watching and waiting for something to happen. He saw some fireflies flicker in the distance. He saw some colorful birds streak the dawning sky above him. He saw some stark white rabbits happily hopping in and out of the fallen snow powder as if romping at play.
The young Lijian quieted his mind, putting a stop to his rambling thoughts, choosing to think only positive thoughts, that his mission was about to be completed, that soon he would see the Voice face to face, that he would journey to the Peak, a place no human had ever been to, that he would finally fulfill his father’s desire to save Ceto from the Shadow’s poison, that he would return to Ceto with tantalizing stories about the Voice, the Shadow, the Chena River, and the Yuli Wind.
Then suddenly, the ground began to shake, or so it seemed to Toruk. When he looked closer, he noticed it was not the ground shaking but the Tavatu.
“What’s happening?” he mumbled as he watched the flowers suddenly come alive, their stems and petals trembling, shaking as if they were giving birth, as if something was about to come forth.